


Bingo

by Bellatlas



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Irondad Bingo 2019, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Precious Peter Parker, Sick Peter Parker, Sickfic, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, iron
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-25 16:05:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19749106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellatlas/pseuds/Bellatlas
Summary: "I told you to drive straight here. No crime fighting detours. What part of that was confusing?" Peter only groaned. "The drive straight part, evidently." In which Peter may not have crashed May's car into a ditch, and may or may not be making Tony go prematurely gray. 25 related one-shots for the Iron Dad Bingo Tumblr prompts. IW snapped/Endgame casualties are alive.





	1. Car Crash

**Author's Note:**

> Absolutely love the Irondad bingo going around on tumblr, so I wanted to write 25 of my own here. Not quite sure who started the bingo game or how it works (oh how my research skills have failed me) but this prompt is from madatthesea's bingo card, so definitely go check their stuff out if you like this!

Peter's nerves felt like a live wire. Crazy and buzzing with energy, dangerously active. Even his heart was in his stomach, flopping around haphazardly.

"You sure you've got everything?"

Peter looked around. Aux cord leading from his phone to the stereo to give him directions (but no texting, May had said. If he died texting and driving, May would bring him back to life and kill him again herself. Of that, she'd promised). License and registration in the glove box. He pat the many pockets of his cargo shorts until he could feel the lump that was his wallet. "Yeah. Yeah, I've got everything."

May gave him a knowing smile as she leaned through the passenger window to give his shoulder a squeeze, hair falling over her shoulder. "Okay, but can I offer you a tip?"

Peter smirked at her. His sweet, beautiful, amazing aunt who worried way too much. She was going to go gray before Peter so much as got his diploma. "I've got this. I promise."

"I know you do, but just hear me out. If the car starts giving you trouble-"

"Call you. I know, May. I'll be fine. Really."

"No. I was going to say that when the car gives you trouble with turning on, you might want to try using these?" She reached into her purse and pulled out Peter's keychain, car key reflecting the evening sunlight into his eyes, mocking him.

Peter flushed down to his neck as he reached his hand out to take the keys from her. "O-oh yeah. Remembering these uh… might be kinda useful, huh?" He fumbled with them, making sure to unhook the little iron man figure that had been a permanent fixture on the keychain for years. Someone didn't need to be seeing that later because someone would never live it down.

May just laughed. "Alright, my little genius. Have fun and be safe. Call me as soon as you get to the compound."

"I know, May. I will."

"I'm serious! Don't forget, or I'll call Tony and give him an earful."

Peter grimaced. He might actually die of embarrassment from that. He couldn't even picture Tony on the phone with May in full mama bear mode. "I know you will."

May heaved a sigh and pulled her body out of the passenger side window, clasping her hands in front of her until the knuckles turned white.

"May, are you crying?"

"No!" she yells, but she choked on her words and sniffed, and Peter didn't need any enhanced sight to see the telltale sheen of tears in her eyes. "It's just… the allergies are kind of bad, and-"

"May!"

"-And my baby is growing up!"

"May, it- it's okay. I'm not going that far, I'm just… I don't have to go."

"No! No. Happy tears. All happy tears. I'm proud of you. It's just going by so fast." She brushed the tears away quickly before they could fall and ruin her makeup, and waved him off. "You need to get going. You're going to be late."

"Right. Right." Peter turned the key and the car, well… it didn't roar to life. It more so wheezed and sputtered to life, begrudgingly accepting that it was going to go on yet another journey that it wasn't really up for. It was an old car by then. Really old. Older than Peter, actually, if he was remembering correctly. New cars were expensive. And besides, he didn't think May would give the car up even if she did have the money for a new auto loan. This had been Ben's car, and she was sentimental to a fault. He rolled the window up, thankful that it at least wasn't so old that he had to crank it back up, and there was a rather awkward minute where May was still on the sidewalk next to their apartment building, waving, never stopping, _still waving, oh my God,_ while Peter made the car buck forward and backward again and again in a sad attempt to shimmy out of the parallel spot that May had somehow managed to squeeze into when she'd pulled the car around (seriously, how did she even get into the spot to begin with?) until finally breaking free into traffic. He glanced up into the rearview mirror as he drove away, May shrinking into just a dot behind him whenever her form wasn't blocked by other cars. She hadn't moved from her spot on the sidewalk, and though Peter couldn't tell from the angle he was at, he was sure she was still waving slightly. He'd put money on it.

He shook his head and focused on the road in front of him. All honking horns and red lights and stop, then go, _no stop!_ Until he finally broke through the boundaries of the city and all the skyscrapers and tall buildings faded into the background, replaced by suburbia and trees and greenery. It would be a long drive to the compound. A business party. A superhero only business party.

His nerves jumped again and he looked over to gush to May, only, oh yeah, she was still back in Queens. It was just Peter this time, and the thought felt weird. There was no safety net without her. No _'Peter it's not a four-way stop!'_ and slamming on the breaks a moment before darting out into oncoming traffic.

He rolled the window down and leaned his arm out, feeling the wind wrap around his fingers and tug at them like a kite. It was a bitter kind of cold outside (upstate New York was good at that) but he paid it no mind. It felt like it did when he would careen between buildings back in Queens. It was freeing, the whole 'driving all on his own' thing, though he wasn't quite sure why. He'd undoubtedly been a lot freer than most other teens his age, what with Happy picking him up at every other location, the stellar- well, maybe not stellar, okay _far_ from stellar, but _extensive_ New York subway system letting him go pretty much wherever whenever he so pleased… and the whole soaring between buildings thing.

No, he wasn't freer, but there was just something about it. A certain quality that he couldn't quite put his finger to. It was like having the training wheels taken off when he was little. As one hour, then two hours slipped by and he sped through winding roads, he felt older. More competent. More trusted. More adult. All the things he yearned for most out of life. And, it was kind of crazy that an old beat up 2000 Honda Civic could make him feel like that, but hell. Why fight it? He'd soak in all the joy he could before Tony would inevitably come out complaining about the old car he'd been driving and insist on Happy picking him up next time. Which, wouldn't be happening. There would be no going back after this.

The sun began setting, hanging low in the sky, a piercing orange over the treetops. Peter squinted through his sunglasses and flipped down the visor, but it wasn't enough. Some rays still managed to burst through, leaving a bright green spot over his vision no matter where he looked. Or, maybe it was bright pink? He shook his head and his stomach flipped, and not in the overexcited way it had been all morning long. Even behind the sunglasses, the bright rays set off alarms in his head. It felt like his head was a pinball machine, pain ricocheting between his ears so quickly that he couldn't keep up with it or even brace himself for it. He cursed under his breath and could have sworn that he tasted bile rise in the back of his throat. For all the good that his heightened senses did for him, they made up for it ten times over in days spent hunched over the bathroom toilet or in bed with the blankets pulled securely around his face because the sights and the smells and the sounds were all just too much for one person to possibly handle.

He couldn't sink down into the seat and tuck his head between his knees and take shallow breaths now like he so desperately wanted to, though. He was driving. And so, he squinted into the sun and swallowed hard, nuclear sirens in his head be damned, and kept driving. His eyes watered and he gripped the steering wheel. No matter how much willpower he had to keep on, though, there was a point at which it wasn't his choice anymore, at which his body would close his eyes and shut the whole thing down, because no matter the consequences, at least it wouldn't be so bright anymore. He was nearing that point. Maybe that was why when goosebumps pricked up on the back of his arms and he knew something was wrong, he was sluggish in pinpointing exactly what until, literally, it was glaring at him right in the face: a deer in the road.

It stood and stared at him, his headlights beaming back off of its eyes and turning them to a fluorescent blue. MOVE, Peter wanted to scream, but she just flapped her ears at him and continued chewing on a bit of leaf in her mouth.

Peter slammed on the brakes and was thrown against the seatbelt with such force that he worried that it might snap. Either the seatbelt was going to snap, or his collarbone. One of the two. Of that, he was sure. Pain burst across his shoulder and chest with a sharpness he didn't even think was possible, and he was pretty sure that the seatbelt had just won.

The brakes locked up, ABS light on the dash be damned, and the car skid, regardless of how quickly Peter pumped the brakes and tried to channel the information from his days falling asleep in the back of the driver's ed classroom at school. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon!" he shouted

It was too little too late, though, and he quickly realized that there was no way he was going to stop in time to avoid the deer, and also no way he was going to allow that to happen. The poor thing had done nothing to deserve this.

He gripped the steering wheel and yanked, using perhaps a bit too much super strength than the job required. The car veered off into the oncoming lane with a thud, _Oh God, that please tell him that wasn't the deer. It was definitely the deer,_ and kept going.

Peter felt his heart leap into his throat. This _could not_ be happening. He overcorrected and pulled the steering wheel in the opposite direction, but it was too big a force on too small a car, too little too late, and it slid right off the edge of the road.

Peter saw it all happen in slow motion, realized with horror that it wasn't just flat ground on the other side of the road, but a ditch. A big ditch, with water coursing through it from the last rainfall that had to be at least four feet deep. Oh no. What had those commercials always said? That as little as a few inches of water could wash you away? _Oh God, oh God, oh God._ The car rolled into it, and even for Peter's enhanced senses, he wasn't quite sure what was happening.

The sound was, well, deafening wouldn't do it justice. It sounded like his eardrums should have split open. It didn't sound like metal on dirt. It sounded like the meteor that killed the dinosaurs had come back for round two. Everything outside the window was a blur, rolling around in a mess of brown and green and black and crunching metal, and then suddenly he could see nothing.

Shit, shit, shit, shit. No, nothing was moving in slow motion. His thoughts were just racing at double the speed. Everything around him was just slow in comparison. The only thought that managed to race though, though, was that this was going to hurt. Really, really bad. But, there was nothing Peter could do anymore. Nothing he could do to get himself out of the car in time, to correct its course, to do anything but squeeze the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white and the leather stitching on the cover gave way from the brunt of the force, close his eyes, brace himself, and wait for the worst of it to hit.

But, oh boy, he didn't brace himself enough. He couldn't brace himself enough. There was no preparing yourself for that kind of impact. His neck was thrown to the side and Something in his arm twisted. He heard a brief shattering noise and then the bite of hundreds of little glass shards around him, and was then met with a disgusting mouthful of water, all of it pouring into the car faster than he could manage to catch his breath. He accidentally swallowed a mouthful before he could figure out what was going on, and as he felt a cutting pain tear down his throat and into his stomach, he realized with horror that he must have swallowed a piece of glass, too. Then, oh God, oh God, oh God, the water became hot. Too hot. _Way too hot._

The car was still on and running as the water in the ditch rushed from under the hood and burning engine (or maybe the heater core had burst?) through the broken windshield, and onto Peter. It didn't matter how it happened. What mattered was that Peter was being boiled alive and he couldn't stop a guttural yelp from bursting forward, the sound alien even to his own ears. He jumped, fumbling for the button to release his seatbelt through the almost boiling water, hands turning into claws as he fought to ignore every instinct telling him to get his hand out of the burning water that instant. Finally, he found it, and the seatbelt snapped away from him, Peter jumping out of the hot water and sticking to the top of the car, which was actually the right side of the car now, scanning the damage below him for the one thing he needed to take with him out of this accident: his suit. It was floating in the backseat, and as he reached out to grab it, his left shoulder screamed in pain. When did that happen? In the back of his mind, he remembered a snap and a crunch and _please tell him that wasn't his shoulder._ He had a sickening feeling that it was.

With the little strength he had left, he shoved his back against the passenger window, the same one May had leaned through to tell him to be careful, to tell him that she was proud of him, shattered the glass, and crawled through. Using just his right arm and right leg, because something had happened to his left leg, too, ( why not? It was just his kind of luck) to crawl out of the ditch.

He cast a glance over his shoulder at the car, wedged in place between the walls of the ditch as sewer water yanked loose pieces of metal off of it and swept them away downstream. Totaled. It was completely and utterly totaled. How on earth was he going to tell May? For a wild second, he tried to think of any way possible not to tell her. He could swing the rest of the way to the compound, get a new car, with all the same stains on the upholstery, somehow make the money appear out of nowhere, and pretend that nothing had happened.

He groaned, fumbling through his pocket for his phone, which, miraculously, had stayed put. This couldn't be happening. Unmiraculously, the phone didn't quite survive the water damage. He groaned again, louder this time, and splayed all of his limbs out on the side of the road truly and fully. Karen it was, then.

He reached up to pull the mask on and winced, trying his best to do it one-handed. Using his left arm, or left anything for that matter, was not happening. He only got the mask halfway down his face before Karen beeped to life. Good enough.

"Good evening, Peter."

"Even'n," he mumbles.

"You appear to have several lacerations and trauma to the neck, as well as fractures and sprains along the left side."

"You don't say."

"Shall I contact Mr. Stark for you?"

"Absolutely not."

"I'm sorry, Peter, but it's protocol to contact Mr. Stark whenever a severe injury has been detected."

"Karen, noooooooo," he whined softly, but it was too late, and he already heard the dial tone in his ears. Ugh. He was almost tempted to have Ned hack back into Karen to turn off all of Tony's ridiculous safety precautions again. Why'd she even ask if she was just going to do it anyway? He dragged his good hand across his face and briefly considered ripping the mask off and throwing it to the ditch below, groundbreaking technology be damned.

But, the line only rang twice before Tony's face filled the screen in front of his eyes.

"Kid? I thought I told you. Drive straight here. No crime-fighting detours. What part of that was confusing?"

Peter groaned. "The drive straight part, evidently"

"What?"

"Nothing. It's nothing, Mr. Stark. I'll… I'll just be a bit late. That's all I was calling to tell you."

He squinted at him with that telltale 'bullshit' twist to his mouth that Peter hadn't seen since the ferry incident. Oh, God, the ferry incident. He shook the memory out of his head and groaned when the motion made his head pound. When had he hit his head?

_"You_ didn't call. How late are we talking?"

"Um." He tried doing the math in his head. He couldn't swing. He couldn't walk. Hell, he didn't even know if he could stand. He very well might just topple over if he tried. This wasn't going to happen, was it?

He rested his head back on the edge of the curb, relishing in the coolness. He wasn't getting out of this without telling anyone. This sucked. This really, _really_ sucked.

"Peter?"

"Uh… depends. How long would you say it would take to swing one handed to the compound? Or hop on one foot? Or clear a wreck?"

"You- What-?"

"There was a deer." Peter said plainly.

"And you hit it?"

"It and… a lot of other things."

"Well-" Tony sputtered, mouth gaping like a fish out of water with no noise coming out. "Are you okay? Actually, don't answer that. I'm looking at Karen's data now."

"No. No, I'm fine. Totally, 100% fine."

Tony shot him a belligerent glance. "Tell me, kid. If whiplash, a sprained ankle, first and second-degree burns, and a broken collarbone is 'totally 100% fine, what does your not fine look like? Enlighten me."

"Uh-"

"Yeah. That's what I thought. "

As the adrenaline wore off, the pain set in. He thought that the initial impact was bad? Ha! He'd felt nothing, hyped up in fight or flight mode. Now was when the real pain started, and it was worse than Peter could have imagined. Easily the worst pain in his life, so far anyway, and he'd been through his fair share. He couldn't even pinpoint where. "Shit this hurts."

Tony frowned on screen. "What hurts, exactly?"

"Everything," Peter moaned.

"Alright. That's it. I don't care if Karen says there are no life-threatening injuries. We're calling you an ambulance."

"No no no! Karen is right. I'm fine. Just hurts is all. 'M just being dramatic." Even as he said that, a new wave of pain coursed through his left side and it was all Peter could do to swallow hard, squeeze one eye closed, and not yelp.

Tony's eyes softened. "I know, kid. I know. Just make sure you're in a safe place and hang in there… you sure you're fine? Because if you're not and I didn't call an ambulance-"

"I'm fine, Mr. Stark. Really. I promise. 'S not worth letting any paramedics in on the whole Spiderman thing."

"So… if you're really okay, then that means I can make fun of you for it now, right?"

"No. No, it does not mean that." He squinted at Tony. "Karen, you're such a tattle-tale," he tacked on under his breath, fully not intending for it to reach Tony's ears, but of course it did anyway. Because that was just his luck, wasn't it?

"Did you just say tattle-tale? Really? You know, Karen wouldn't have to tell on you if you, y' know, did the smart thing and told me you needed help on your own."

Peter squeezed his eyes shut. "Ugh. Can you please just quit with the smart remarks and come help me?"

The other end of the line went silent and Peter's heart dropped. Too much. He'd mouthed off too much, and opened his mouth to apologize, but Tony beeped back in before he could.

"I can do exactly one of those things."

'Mph," Peter huffed, and listened to the sound of the Iron Man suit firing up and roaring over the line, and Tony hitting him with a whole arsenal of one-liners the whole flight.

"Would you look at that? He takes down airplanes _and_ cars! He's multitalented!"

"Don't worry, I'm sure you still look absolutely _smashing."_

"Hey, hey, hey, I heard you got an eight out of ten on your driving test. Guess the other two must have jumped out of the way, huh?"

Peter pulled the edge of the mask up - and ow, he forgot about his shoulder again- so that there was room to shove his middle finger into view of the camera.

Tony merely snorted and kept on. Peter closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the curb, the rest of his body on the narrow strip of grass between the road and the ditch. Man, he was tired. More tired than he'd been in a long time.

"Kid?"

Peter just let out a nonsensical "mph" in response, which evidently didn't make it to Tony's ears this time over the sound of the suit in flight.

"Kid!"

He cracked his eyes open to the panicked edge in Tony's voice.

"Oh thank God."

Peter arched an eyebrow up.

"Hey, I know Karen said that your injuries weren't on the life-threatening side of things, but what do you expect me to think after you've just been in a wreck, close your eyes, and _stop answering?"_

"Relax. 'M just tired."

Tony blinked. "No. No, you do not _take a nap at the side of the road._ Jesus. Do you need a lesson in common sense or something?"

"Probably."

Tony rolled his eyes. "But… you're definitely okay? I mean, I know you're not okay okay, but like- not dying or something?"

Peter chuckled. "Yes, Mr. Stark. How many times do you want me to say it until you believe me?" He knew the answer, though. It was until he could see him in person.

"Fine. You're right, you're right… More jokes then?"

"Oh, no, no, no, Mr. Stark. I didn't say that!"

He snickered to himself. "Well. Lucky for you, I'm almost there, so I'll spare the rest for the drive back. Happy is on his way."

"No, not Happy!" But, Tony doesn't answer. If Peter had to spend the rest of the drive to the compound in the back of Happy's car, again, he might actually just choose to jump out the window and hop the rest of the way.

He tilted his head back and saw the familiar form of Iron Man descending from the sky and land next to him with a powerful thud that made the earth- and his head and fractured bone- shake. Ow. It was the first time Peter had seen Tony back in the suit since he snapped, and Peter was too banged up to even appreciate it. He had gone into a retirement of sorts, though apparently he'd done that even before he snapped. Only a retirement of sorts, though, because as everyone knew, permanently injured with a mechanical arm and blind in one eye or not, nothing would every _really_ keep Tony from Ironman when push came to shove. Peter was proof of that.

Tony took the helmet off and let out a low whistle. "You look like shit."

Peter stared up at him with half-lidded eyes. "Gee. Thanks."

His forehead creased with worry as he evaluated the scene. "No. I mean that this is worse than Karen made it sound. A lot worse."

"I told you. 'M perfectly fine." He barely got the words out before trying to sit up and pain tearing through the left side of his body with a guttural sort of yelp.

"Hey! Easy!" Tony planted a firm ironclad hand on his shoulder and helped him into a sitting position. "This is not fine. Christ, I almost feel bad for teasing you the whole way here."

"Don't worry. I forgive you."

"I said almost."

With a hand more gentle than Peter would have expected possible for Tony, he peeled back Peter's eyes and shone a light in them.

Peter closed them tight and turned his head to the side. "What are you doing?"

"Your pupils are different sizes."

"That's not good."

Tony pinched his lips together. "No. It's not. Follow my finger with your eyes."

"Mr. Stark. I'm fine. Really."

"Please just do it."

"Okay, okay." Peter relented and followed Tony's pointer finger as he moved it slowly from side to side. What was this supposed to do, exactly?

"Cool. What about that light a second ago? How'd that make you feel? Was it too bright?"

"Uh…" Peter thought. "I guess?"

Tony frowned, the creases on forehead starting to look as though they'd be etched there permanently. "That's also not good."

"Is it not?"

"Nope. Photosensitivity is another concussion symptom."

"Oh. Pshhh." Peter waved him off. "I always think lights are too bright. That's why I hit the deer in the first place. Too much sun. Too much super sight."

Tony paused to look at him for a moment at that. "You... what? That's a thing? We're going to need to do something about that, then."

"Yeah," he sighed. "I really thought I had a handle on it."

"You didn't."

"What insightful observation." He was starting to take on too much of Tony's sarcasm. It was starting to scare him, really.

Peter laid back down on the ground and covered his eyes with his hands. "I can't believe this is happening."

"Hey. Don't worry about the crash right now. Just take it easy. We'll get you patched up in a bit, and I'll call someone out here to get the car." He spared a look into the ditch. "Or, y' know. What's left of it."

Peter followed his gaze. "Is there any chance it can be fixed."

"Ha! Nope. This is a 'throw the whole car away' kind of deal."

Peter merely groaned.

Tony patted him on the shoulder. "Seriously. Don't worry about the car. You're not the first teen to total the family car and you sure as hell won't be the last. As long as you're okay, the car can be replaced."

"No, it can't."

Tony looked back at the car again. Even being totaled aside, it wasn't a great looking car. Hadn't been for some time. He raised an eyebrow at Peter.

"It was Ben's car."

"Ben?"

"Ben. My uncle. May's husband."

The playful glint in Tony's eyes- the one that always tried to lighten up the situation with inappropriate and poorly timed jokes, was snuffed out in an instant.

"... Oh."

"Yeah."

"Ummm…" Tony and Peter looked over the scene once more. Maybe there was something they missed, some way to fix this. There had to be a way, right? They were geniuses. But, there wasn't. The car was done. It had driven its last mile once and for all.

"She's going to be so mad." Peter covered his face with his hands.

"Yeah… yeah, she probably will be."

"Ugh."

Tony kneeled by him and pulled his hands from his face with a strangled "Sorry, oh my God, I'm so sorry!" at Peter's Yelp when the movement jostled his shoulder. "But, May wants you safe. The car is just a reminder of family. You're her actual family."

He sighed. "I guess."

"No. Not I guess. You're what matters. End of story."

Peter just let out a huff. He knew Tony was right, but it didn't exactly help the situation, either.

"Well one way or another, we need to get you back to the compound before your shoulder sets weird or something."

"They can set that fast?"

"They can if you're a mutant spider freak."

When Happy pulled up with the car, he was ready to lay into Peter in a far more serious fashion than Tony already had with his jeering on the way over. He could see it on his face. The look said everything: How could a genius like you be so stupid? Why didn't you pull over if you were having trouble? You never swerve away from the deer!

But, Tony shot him a pointed look. Not the time, and Happy nodded with pursed lips. This wasn't a time for reprimanding, even if it was done out of concern.

Thank you, Peter silently thought towards Tony, hoping that he'd be able to feel even an ounce of his appreciation. He liked Happy. He really did. And, he knew that Happy begrudgingly liked him back. But having Happy drive him again, and after only his first time out on the road was… completely humiliating.

"Hand me the first aid kit?" Tony asked.

Happy nodded and dig through the glove box as Tony swung into the backseat with Peter.

"You can do x-rays and stuff with that?" Peter questioned.

"What?" Tony looked at him like he had two heads. "No. It's a first aid kit. It has band-aids and gauze and stuff."

Peter didn't think it was that far fetched. Tony had successfully made far crazier things before.

"Hold still for me." Tony pulled out a pair of tweezers, and more gently than Peter thought possible, tilted Peter's chin up. "There's some glass in this cut… this is going to hurt."

It did hurt, and Peter sucked in a breath through his teeth with a "sorry," from Tony, but it didn't hurt as much as Peter was expecting. Tony was uncharacteristically gentle, smoothing the skin on his forehead and carefully picking out the glass bit by bit, even with his mechanical arm that he hadn't quite gotten the hang of yet. Peter had spent countless hours in the old Avengers tower lab with Tony while the new compound was being reconstructed as he relearned how to use the new arm and focus on things with one working eye. He'd even learned a few new colorful words from Tony that he'd never heard before as Tony made mistake after mistake in the lab thanks to his new handicaps before grumbling at Peter to come do it for him with his fancy depth perception and steady hands.

It turned out that Tony could focus in on small pieces and keep his new metal arm steady when he really wanted to.

"Almost done," he told Peter as he had to dig in for a particularly deep shard of glass. Peter winced and bit the inside of his cheek. The rest of the drive all went wordlessly until they finally arrived back at the new compound and Tony packed his now bloodied tweezers back into the first aid kit. "Well, that's all I can do. Gotta let the docs fix up the rest. Wait, no! Actually, that isn't all I can do. Here." Tony reached back into the first aid kit and slapped a band-aid on Peter's forehead before grabbing him by his right arm and helping him out of the car.

Peter looked at his reflection in the tinted windows. "Are… are these Spiderman themed band-aids? You have Spiderman bandaids. Wh- what?"

"Limited edition. So don't go using the rest of them up. You'll owe me a dollar ninety-nine if you do." Tony flashed him a smile and swung Peter's good arm around his shoulders, pulling him close as he stumble-limped into the compound and up to the med bay.

Two hours, a whole slew of x-rays and scans, a sling, and an ice pack later, Peter finally hobbled out to the then dwindling party. He was supposed to be in a wheel-chair, but still somehow had enough energy and agility left in him to sneak out of the med-bay on his own two feet. He just hoped Tony wouldn't find out.

"There he is!" he said when Peter stumbled in. Tony again threw Peter's good arm over his shoulders and showed him off to everyone, introducing him just as the intern this time around (Thank GOD. He didn't want this to be his formal intro as Spiderman, even if it was originally supposed to be) but Peter didn't really have it in him to go around and mingle anymore. He hadn't revealed that he was Spiderman like he was going to, so there just... wasn't really a lot to talk to anyone about without blowing his cover until a more appropriate time. Despite how nervous and excited he'd been for this party, he found himself dreading the rest of night in which he'd probably spend the rest of it sipping a virgin cocktail while on his phone texting with Ned and maybe get made fun of by Tony for the fruity drink. Okay, definitely get made fun of.

But, rather than leave Peter to find a seat and try to entertain himself for the rest of the night, Tony steered him away from the Party and out towards the entrance.

"Mr. Stark? Where are we going?"

"I have a present for you."

"A present?"

"Two- no. Three, actually."

"Mr. Stark, you really-"

"Nope. Shhh. No talking. Take these. Present number one." He reached into the pocket of his suit and pulled out a pair of… "Sunglasses?"

Peter put them on tentatively. "Whoa."

"Same tech that's in your suit goggles. Only, glasses. Because, well… I guess you can't go parading the Spiderman mask around all day anytime you need to dim things out and focus, can you? I… really should have thought about that before. I- yeah. Sorry."

"Wow. These… these are amazing. Thank you. _So_ much."

"Save your thanks, kid." He pat Peter on the back and led him the rest of the way outside where-

"Mr. Stark. You didn't…"

"I did."

Peter looked on at the two new cars - _cars!_ \- with awe.

"Figured you and May needed separate cars, anyway. So. Y'know. Two birds, one stone. All that jazz."

Peter didn't recognize the make or model of either, nor did he recognize the gaping sound that somehow he managed to produce, but he was pretty sure that each one was worth more than his entire apartment building and everything in it combined. Shiny and low and lean, one a subdued dark red, and the other a jet black.

"Oh, that's not all. We uh… we couldn't save everything, or even most things, but we got as many things as we could out of your uncle's old car and installed them where they actually fit. Really just the steering wheel cover and a few decorations that looked like they might have gone on the dash. I know it's not the same, but… I figured it's something."

"I, I, I-" Peter was at a total loss for words. "How can I repay you? I don't even know what to say. What do you even say to something like this?"

"Thank you is a good starting point, usually."

"Yes. _Yes. Thank you_ , Mr. Stark. _So much._ I- just- what? How did you even get these this fast?"

Tony laughed under his breath and pointed to himself. "Genius billionaire. Oh. One more thing. Before you're allowed to take these, home-" He pulled his phone out of his pocket, quickly searching something up. "You see this?" he asked, turning the screen towards Peter.

It was a picture of a deer crossing sign.

"I know what it means, Mr. Stark."

"Humor me."

Peter barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He couldn't though. Not after a gesture like this, _oh my God._ "Deer are in the area and you should slow down and look out for them," he mumbled.

"Congrats. You've passed my driving test." More seriously, he added, "You got _lucky_ you're only this hurt. I don't want to get a call like that again, okay? You're going to make me go gray, and I have too many photo ops to be doing that yet. So just… _please_ be careful. Always wear those glasses during the day. That's how you can repay me."

"I will, Mr. Stark. I promise."

"Good." His mouth twisted to the side. "And- it's Tony."

"Tony." Peter tested the name out. Weird. Wrong, even. Tony was still far too much his superior for him to refer to him by his first name. That was going to take some getting used to. "Well, _Tony._ I should inform you that you are, in fact, already going gray, and it has nothing to do with me."

His face fell. "Scrap that. It's still Mr. Stark for you."


	2. Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As it would turn out, a mouth full of cold sewage runoff in a ditch is enough to overwhelm even a super spider immune system.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Figured out how irondad bingo worked. You literally just submit to irondadbingo on tumblr for your own scorecard, lol.

Peter woke up the next morning to what he could only describe as a nauseating amount of noise.

His phone layed next to him on Tony's guest bed, blaring at top volume and vibrating so hard that it was about to shake itself right off the edge of the bed. Let it, he thought. He'd rather his phone shatter into a million tiny pieces than move so much as a single muscle in that moment. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been quite this exhausted.

Then, suddenly, there was Tony shaking his shoulder, and oh my God, where the hell had he come from?!

Peter bolted into a sitting position so fast that the room spun and he hit his head hard, square against Tony's, who had been hovering over him, with a sickeningly loud thunk. As if he needed to hit his head again after the day prior.

"OW!" Tony shouted, rubbing his forehead where a red mark was already beginning to form right in the middle. Oh, Peter hoped that didn't bruise. He didn't know if he'd be able to survive the embarrassment from doing that to Tony just from startling awake. "That's important. Precious cargo up here," he said, tapping the side of his head. "Relax. Your alarm has been going off for, like, I don't know. A while. Friday, how long has his alarm been going off now?"

"Mr. Parkers alarm has been going off for twelve minutes and forty-eight seconds," the AI chimed, her high voice seeming to pierce right through Peter's eardrums and into his skull. Spots danced in his vision. No, no, no, no, no.

"Yeah. What she said. So c'mon Let's go. We've got two cars to drive back to Queens. I know it's a one way trip for you, but I don't have all day, here."

The words went in one ear and right out the other, barely even registering. It was like Peter was hearing them underwater. He tried to move, but his muscles burned at the slightest motion and he immediately flushed down to his chest. The room felt as if it had just went up ten, no- twenty-something degrees, and sweat beaded up on his brow. It took a lot for Peter to break a sweat these days.

"Pete?" Tony snapped a few times in front of his face, trying to get his attention, but Peter couldn't will himself to focus on much anything other than just how godawful he felt. "You okay?"

No.

He clapped a hand over his mouth and with a surge of energy that he didn't know he still had in him, threw the covers off from on top of him and dashed to the connected bathroom.

He barely had time to slam his knees down in front of the toilet and get the lid up, and dear Lord those were two too many steps before his stomach finally heaved of its own accord.

The door was still wide open and the bathroom light off. Those were two things that Peter did not have the time or the energy to take care of if making to the toilet in time was even in the realm of possibility.

Peter heaved again and again, coughing into the toilet to force the rest up when his stomach clenching wasn't enough to bring up whatever his body was rejecting. How it wasn't enough, he didn't know. With every heave, his abs clenched so hard that they hurt, and he found himself cursing his superpowers not for the first time that weekend.

His mouth burned. He forgot just how awful the taste of vomit was. And just how awful throwing up felt. Throw up sick was, by far, the worst kind of sick there was.

He could barely catch his breath between episodes and only managed a pitiful moan into the toilet bowl before his stomach turned on him again.

"Pete?"

Finally, Peter caught his breath enough to speak, panting loudly into the toilet. "Can-" he shuddered, all the strength that he had miraculously gained to go throw up leaving his body. "Can you close the door, please? You-" He took another deep breath. "You don't need to see this."

Tony frowned and came over to lean in the doorway. "It's a bit too late for that."

"Mph."

"You done now?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm done." Peter straightened, or tried to, but as soon as he moved, his stomach lurched again. "Nope!" and he planted his face back in the ring of the toilet bowl, throwing up straight bile until it was just dry heaving that wouldn't stop, Jesus, there was nothing left, why couldn't his body get the memo? How had this much even manage to fit in his stomach to begin with?! Finally, a minute later (but a minute was a lot in vomit time, he quickly realized) Peter's stomach stilled, and he sat back on his heels and flushed. "Now I'm done."

He laid his cheek against the toilet seat, relishing the coolness. Porcelain was such an underrated material. Truly.

"Oh, no no no, Peter, get your face off of that! You're going to catch chlamydia or something."

Peter squinted up at him from his place straddling the toilet on the floor, and slowly raised his head. "This is your bathroom, Tony. What exactly have you been doing in here?"

"Hey." Tony pointed a stern finger at him. "When I told you to call me Tony, this is not the context I thought you'd be using it in." He put his hand to his chest in mock surprise. "I feel attacked."

Peter rolled his eyes and stood, legs shaky. "Alright. Alright, I feel a bit better now. I think I can do the drive back."

Tony made a face at him, the same one as the night before when he'd begun drifting off on the side of the road. Ugh. That hadn't just been a bad dream, had it? He really wanted that all to just be a bad dream.

"What?" Peter asked, when Tony continuted to just stand there and squint at him.

"You really do a lesson in common sense."

"No, no." He stumbled to the sink. "I don't really get sick. haven't gotten sick since, since what happened to me. I don't think that I even can."

He held on to the edge of the sink firmly with his good hand. Despite his advanced healing, he had been through the wringer the night before and his sprained ankle was still more than a little tender. "I must have just eaten something bad."

"Or," Tony said, waving a finger in the air. "You're just sick. Getting doused in sewer water in a ditch in the cold will do that to you, you know. Super-spider immune system or not. First time for everything"

Peter's thoughts flashed back to the night before, to the mouthful of disgusting icy ditch runoff just a moment before it started boiling, and shuddered.

"And I bet having to patch up the entire left half of your body didn't do your immune system any favors, either."

"Mph," Peter grunted. He wasn't quite sold on the idea.

"Give it twenty minutes," Tony said. "Then we'll see."

Peter looked at himself in the mirror. He really did look like the incarnation of death itself: head of curls so tangled it was almost matted from a night tossing and turning under the covers. Dark, bruise-like bags under his eyes that were only made worse by his sickly paleness. Arm in a sling. Gripping the edge of the sink for dear life.

"No wonder you think I'm sick."

"I think you're sick because you are sick, dufus."

"Debatable."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Just get back in bed for a bit, okay?" He grabbed Peter's shoulder and helped him limp back to his bed, though you'd never know his ankle was even hurt by his mad dash to the toilet earlier, and Peter leaned into it truly and fully, maybe even more so than the evening prior when his injuries were still fresh.

He collapsed face first into the bed, and only stayed there for another ten minutes, perfectly still, before he was scrambling for the bathroom again.

Tony watched on from the sidelines with an arched eyebrow that could only say 'I told you so.'

"Mr. Stark?"

"Yeah?"

"I think I might be sick."

"No way!" Tony made the 'mind blown' gesture with both hands on each side of his head. "Who would have guessed?"

"Mph." Peter felt too sick to even retort, and Tony's eyes crinkled at the sides when he frowned. It was the little things like that- the peppered hair and the lines where there used to be none, that served as a constant reminder of how much time had passed while he had been gone.

"C'mon, kid." he grabbed Peter from under the arms and heaved him up onto his feet. "Bed. Now. I'll call May and let her know what's going on. You're staying here today."

Peter relented and crawled into bed with the last ounce of energy he had, only pulling the thin top sheet over him, since he couldn't decide whether he was burning hot or freezing cold. Or both. It was definitely both.

"Uhhh-" Tony glanced over Peter's trembling form. "Thermometer. Temperature taking is something you do with sick kids, right? I don't really know what to do here."

"'M not a kid," Peter mumbled. "And do you mean to tell me that Morgan has never gotten sick?"

Tony stared ahead, at nothing in particular, eyes going wide, almost as if he was having some sort of war flashback. Though, come to think of it, that wouldn't be particularly out of the question. He shuddered and broke out of his daze. "Somach bug sick? Only once. And that was way, way different. You can actually make it to a toilet. And didn't start getting sick out in the middle of the woods on a camping trip with a six hour drive back. That- yeah. As long as this isn't a repeat of that, we'll be fine."

Peter chuckled and then winced at how the motion shook his stomach. Tony Stark as a dad. Who would have guessed?

Tony hopped out of the room and came back in a moment later, chucking a thermometer at Peter, which hit him square in the eye.

"Um. Ow." He'd been saying that a lot today.

"Oh. Yeah. I guess quick reflexes aren't really your thing right now, huh? Well, consider it payback for hitting my head, then."

Peter took it and stuck it begrudgingly under his tongue. It tasted like pennies and antiseptic that hadn't quite had time to dry and his stomach flipped. Again.

"Pete?"

Peter squeezed his eyes shut. It was only thirty seconds. Thirty seconds until it was done taking his temperature. He could wait until then, and swallowed hard. As soon as it beeped, he threw it to the bed and went back to the bathroom to resume his dry heaving for the third time just in that hour. Oh. Oh. So this was going to be one of those stomach bugs. Not a "sipping on Gatorade and a little queasy and maybe you go throw up once or twice while watching mid-day cartoons" kind, but a "throw up everything in your stomach and then just bile and then dry heave and then might as well just throw up your whole stomach and pray for death while you're at it" kind of sick. In other words, he was going to be in complete and utter hell for at least the next day.

Tony let out a low whistle. "102.8"

Peter groaned from the bathroom. Numbers meant nothing to him in that moment. "Can you just bring the pillow and the blankets in here? It's gonna be one of those." He squinted at Tony from the floor. "Unless you got some weird STD on the floor in here, too. In which case nevermind."

Tony responded simply by hurling the pillow at his head and a wad of sheets at his head.

When Tony returned an hour later to check on Peter, he hoped he would be asleep. Or at least still with it and just still throwing his guts up. He didn't expect Peter to be laying on the floor, cheek against the tile, eyes half open and unfocused, breathing shaky and shallow breaths that were coming way too fast for someone lying there and doing absolutely nothing.

"Peter?"

Peter didn't respond, didn't even grunt or blink or anything. Tony's heart leaped into his chest. He knew the kid was going to be okay, logically. If he was still breathing this hard, then there was nothing that his med team couldn't handle, especially not a measly stomach virus, but he image of Peter fading into dust was still vivid in his mind, even after all these years, and he just got the kid back. Emotions had a habit of not following logic very well, especially lately.

"Peter!" Tony slid down next to him on the bathroom floor. "Peter. Give me something. Say something."

Peter huffed and managed a shaky thumbs up, and Tony laughed humorlessly. Leave it to Peter to look like he was dying on the floor of his guest bathroom and still shoot him a thumbs up to say that he was totally fine.

"Fri?" Tony called up to the ceiling. "Give me a reading."

"Mr. Parker is currently suffering from dehydration, electrolyte imbalance, and elevated core body temperature. These are common symptoms of gastroenteritis and usually do not require medical intervention."

"Usually?" Tony knew what a stomach bug was. He knew it didn't usually require a doctor. He wasn't an idiot, for crying out loud, he was Tony Stark. "Fri, I'm asking if Peter needs the med bay now, not for some generic reading off of Web MD!"

Her chime came a moment later. "Mr. Parker's core body temperature is high enough to require medical assistance."

He cursed under his breath. "Tell me next time, Friday!"

"Would you like me to add it to protocol to alert you if Mr. Parker is unwell or injured on the compound premises?"

"Yes!" Hadn't he programmed her to do so already? Hadn't he programmed her well enough for her to program herself to do that?

"Noooo," Peter whined from the floor. Oh. Oh, now he was willing to talk. When he was instructing Friday to take care of him. Of course.

"I'm sorry," the AI said. "I am receiving conflicting confirmations. Shall I add alerting you if Peter Parker is ill or injured on the premise to the protocol?"

"No." Peter said again from his spot on the floor, loud and clear this time, before Tony even had the chance to open his mouth.

"You know what?" Tony put his hands up in defeat. "I don't have time for this. I'll be back." Friday was sooo grounded. Could he ground an AI? Taking her offline to do maintenance on her sounded like grounding enough.

He slipped out to grab someone from the med bay, but not before flipping Peter the bird, only half joking, and returning with a handful of nurses not five minutes later. They crowded around Peter and Tony peeped over their shoulders, having to stand on his toes like a damn toddler to get a better view of what they were doing to him.

"What's wrong? Is he going to be okay? He was talking just a minute ago."

A nurse held up a finger to shush him and Tony, and Tony almost snapped back at her. She was his employee, working on his protegee, not the other way around. But, he bit his tongue. Just doing her job. She was just doing her job, he told himself, breathing out a long breath. Really, he was glad he had them here. Even if he did want to throw her out of the way so he could see what was going on in that instant.

"He needs a fever reducer and an IV for fluids," she said to another nurse.

"He can't have a fever reducer," Tony said.

The nurse looked back at him.

"His metabolism. It's crazy high. He'll just break it down before it can do anything. I think… At least… that's what his aunt told me…"

"Then…" The nurse shook her head, thrown for a bit of a loop. "Then we'll just have to give him a higher dose."

"Is that safe?" He wasn't a doctor or anything, but… that… certainly didn't sound safe. "Why don't you just give him one of Cap's? Those should work on him, right?"

She shook her head at him. "Giving a higher dose of the normal stuff is certainly safer than letting him sit at 105.5. And giving him one of Cap's is out of the question until we know what his metabolism is actually doing."

"105.5?" Tony asked incredulously. It… only an hour ago had been at 102. Which, of course wasn't good, but wasn't 105.5. Things changed so fast with this kid, in so many different facets of his life. He could never keep up. Damn, he was getting old. And he was going to be running so many tests on Peter after this.

Peter was still coherent enough that the whimpered and scooted away at the sight of the IV needle, which, in his defense was a huge ass needle that would make even the most 'unphased by needles' people squirm, but still out of it enough that he didn't mind trying to get away from it or whimpering in front of Tony. Which, he knew would never happen under normal circumstances.

And, just as quickly as the nurses had come in, working their gloved hands all up and down Peter with all the fancy tools and gadgets that Tony had supplied them, they were off again. Back off to the med-bay to do, well, whatever it was Tony paid them to do whenever they weren't performing life or death operations on dying superheroes. Probably play cards or something, if he were being honest.

"Wait- wait, you're not going to do anything else?" Peter was still on the floor, looking kind of gray in weird way that he was sure wasn't good, and hadn't moved since his feeble attempt to get away from the needle. He still looked like he needed a doctor. And, as smart as Tony was, he was tech smart. His medical knowledge only went so far.

"There's nothing else to do," the nurse said point blank. "He has a fever. We gave him fever reducer and fluids. He isn't dying. He just feels bad. That happens with sick people, you know." She didn't even wait for a confirmation from Tony before turning on her heel and walking back out.

He decided that he didn't like that nurse's attitude. Apparently her card game was so much more important.

"Ugh." Tony slid down the side of the bathroom wall and watched Peter, now leashed to an IV pole in his guest bathroom, pant on the floor, tangled in a mess of sweaty sheets with his curls plastered to his face.

It tugged at his heartstrings a bit; he wasn't going to lie. And he felt an awful, insurmountable weight of guilt pressing down on his chest for allowing Peter to get to that state to begin with. He should have stayed with him. He was, after all, still a kid, as much as Peter would fight him on that. He could have gotten the IV sooner if Tony had, y'know, been there to see his illness continue to amp up.

But, he just hadn't felt like they were, well, there yet. They both were and weren't, in a strange sort of way. Their relationship a maze of pushing and pulling in which Tony was never sure what direction he needed to go or even what his endgame was.

To Peter, it had just been a few months ago that Tony was his distant, hard to contact, yet surprisingly generous almost-boss whom he turned down. Who he looked up to, sure, but they didn't really have a real relationship with. Not really.

But, for Tony it had been five years. Five years of waking up screaming into his pillow when he re-lived Peter disappearing in his arms back on Titan, waking Pepper and his newborn daughter up with him, night after night. Five years of having to look at that godforsaken picture of the two of them in his kitchen where Peter had drastically over-estimated how tall Tony was and put his bunny ears a whole hand length too high as he held the Stark Industries certificate upside-down. Every morning while flipping pancakes for his family. But, well, it's not like he was going to get rid of it either.

Five years of growing happy with his new family, but, as Pepper had put it, never being able to rest. How utterly happy he'd been when Peter, after five goddamn years had swung through that portal. The relief had been tangible. Even more crushing than the guilt.

But, it hadn't been five years for Peter. Nothing had changed for Peter. Not like that anyway.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the iron man keychain that his team had found at the site of the wreck the day before. Separate from the rest of the keys, he had been told. He must have taken it off. Tony had seen it before, of course. Peter wasn't slick, as much as he might think he was. He'd seen it on his desk when he went to recruit him for Germany, and again several times after. He didn't know how to feel about it. He was weirdly... sort of offended? The fact that he hadn't even taken it off altogether, but, at least from what he was told, took it off just so that Tony wouldn't see it... He wasn't sure. It made him feel like Peter still saw him as Iron Man. Not Tony.

He felt so much closer to Peter than his old role as the distant super-hero he'd fanboyed over before the flying alien donut of hell had come down upon them, but… he wasn't. They hadn't actually interacted in that time, he kept having to remind himself. Hadn't actually built the relationship that Tony felt deep down that they had. And, even though he knew that Peter wanted that relationship as much as he did, he couldn't shake the feeling deep in his gut that they just weren't there yet. That they actually needed to build that relationship in person, together, rather than try to make it out of just the exuberance of Peter's fanboying and Tony's own five years of mourning.

And so, he didn't feel it was his place to sit with Peter when he was sick. That… that wasn't a thing that he would have done five years ago, that he would have done the last time Peter remembered him. And so, it just felt wrong to do that with him now. And so, he did what he knew how to do instead: threw sarcastic quips and cars at him.

"Tony?" Peter mumbled. "You okay?"

Tony blinked "What? Am I okay? I'm fine."

Peter shrugged. "You were staring into space."

"Yeah, and you were staring at nothing because you were practically on the brink of death. Come get me next time. Or tell Fri to. Or something for Pete's sake."

Peter snickered at that. "Pete's sake. Heh," and Tony rolled his eyes. "'M fine," he said. Already, he was able to straighten up and his face had a little more color to it, the scary grayish tinge it was taking on now gone.

Tony sighed. "You're really not. Looks like that immune system of yours was doing a bit too much for your own good."

Peter merely shrugged again and didn't answer. "You don't have to stay here, you know. You can go do… I don't know. Iron Man stuff."

Tony barked a laugh. "Iron Man stuff. Kid, why are you so determined to do everything on your own since you got back? Drive here on your own. Do missions on your own. Almost die on my bathroom floor on your own."

"I did not almost die."

"Sure looked like it," Tony mumbled under his breath.

Peter blew a huff of air out of his nose, refusing to make eye contact. "Nothing. 'S nothing, Mr. Stark. Really."

"Which, I do believe, is almost universally the moody teenager code for definitely something."

Peter only grunted in and leaned his head against the cool porcelain of the bathtub. "'M not moody."

"C'mon, kid. Spill. It's just me."

Peter looked at him funny. Right. 'Just me' was still 'Just fucking Iron Man to him. Not 'just Tony.' They were getting there. Slowly.

But, before Tony could pry any further, Peter clapped a hand over his mouth again and shook his head, breathing deeply as he tried in vain to fight off the newest wave of nausea. The message was clear. This wasn't the time for talking. Tony would get down to it eventually, but it wouldn't be today.

"Oh, and Peter?" Tony flashed him a smile. "I wouldn't put my face on that bathtub either."

Peter shot him the sharpest glare he could manage in his state before crawling back to the toilet. Tony stepped out to give him some privacy, laughing all the while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know to explain the joke kinda ruins it, but to be clear, Tony is just messing around and (probably) didn't do anything in there. You actually cannot catch chlamydia from toilet seats. Which is very fortunate. Because I have been unfortunate enough to get sick in many a public restroom. Yay chronic illness! And alcohol. But mostly chronic illness.
> 
> As always, any reviews are always very much appreciated.
> 
> Status of IDB Card: Gala/Press Event | Happy Tears | INSOMNIA | PETER MEETS THE AVENGERS | Alcohol | IDENTITY REVEAL | Car Crash| CAREER DAY | HYPOTHERMIA | PTSD | NO ANESTHESIA | JEALOUSY | SLEEPY | COLLEGE | NIGHTMARES | ROAD TRIP | DRUGS | LOSING POWERS | BULLYING | Homesick | "I Thought I Lost You"|Panic Attacks| Bruises | Working In The Lab | Sick Fic
> 
> If you have any suggestions for any of these prompts in caps (these haven't been planned yet) please let me know! I need ideas.


	3. Homesick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and May had lost their apartment in the snap. Tony helps him get a box of his old things from the new owners.

It was bizarre. The bodega had always been in its telltale little corner of Queens. That was the bodega's corner. More than that, it was Mr. Delmar's corner. It always had been, and Peter truly thought it always would be. It had carved its name into the neighborhood ages ago. Hell, if the bodega survived the Chitauri weapon bank heist gone wrong, had survived literally being sliced in half, he was sure it would survive anything. Anything except Thanos, it would seem.

To see grand re-opening signs flying outside of the new location two blocks away in a building that looked far too new, all while a dollar general took up residence in Mr. Delmar's corner of Queens, was wrong. Very wrong.

But, he decided when he stepped inside of the new bodega and was greeted with that same telltale deli smell that he'd had dreams about since getting back, that transported him back a million years ago (or, like, five) it didn't really matter. He was back. His people were back. And, slowly (so slowly, dear God there was still so much to clean up) his neighborhood was coming back. And there was no part of his neighborhood quite like Delmar's Deli. Well… his old neighborhood….

He winced at the thought. In the time that he and May were gone, their apartment had been taken by new owners. Their things sold. He remembered that day too well. Coming home bloodied and bruised from battle, Aunt May hysterical, and wanting nothing more than to take a shower, eat some ramen, climb into bed, cry for a bit, and pass out cold before having to get up the next day and put together all the pieces that had fallen apart. Five Years. He'd been gone for five years.

Only, they'd had no home. Not anymore. Just a box of old belongings that the new owners hadn't sold or tossed, and the car that they'd been gracious enough to give back. Which, was now totaled, courtesy of Peter himself.

They weren't awful people, the new owners. Under any other set of circumstances, Peter might have even liked them. But, he didn't. They were living in his apartment. As he had learned when he'd crawled past his old window to get a look back inside, had turned his room into a personal Zumba fitness room (the blasphemy!). And, well, it's not like they could evict them. They'd bought the apartment in an auction. It, and everything in it, legally, was theirs now.

And so, bloody, sweaty, and exhausted in every meaning of the word, Peter and May had been homeless, which was a terrifying thing, and he was sure they were far from the only ones.

They found a parking lot that wasn't too sketchy behind a 24 hour gym, parked the car, leaned the seats back, locked the doors (not that it really mattered. It was mid-summer and they'd had to roll the windows all the way down or risk getting baked half to death) and tried to sleep with the sounds of sirens and everything descending into chaos around them.

They were only a few hours into their attempt at sleeping when Happy called, despite everything he was probably handling with Tony and his, er, condition after using the stones, and promptly told the two to get their asses up to the old Avengers tower that instant. He didn't know how Happy even knew what they were up. He had to have been spying on them. Maybe Tony was coherent enough to tell Happy to check on him, and that idea gave Peter a flutter of hope. Maybe he wouldn't lose Tony. Whatever the reason, Peter could only find it in him to be grateful for the stocking this time around. Both he and May were both too exhausted and thankful and desperate for an actual bed to argue, and Peter finally got his shower in. And a good cry.

He'd looked down at the pink-tinted water rushing between his feet to the drain on the other end of the room (because yes- in Stark tower, the shower was an entire room), and cringed at how salty the water was when it ran into his mouth from his hair. He knew he should feel something. Something about the world going on without him for five years. Something about how he shouldn't have ever even made it back to Earth from Titan. Something about having literally nothing anymore. Anything, really. But, in that moment, he didn't have it in him. He just felt tired.

They'd gotten a new apartment soon after (real estate was booming, didn't you hear?) but it wasn't the same. It would never be the same.

The new apartment was nice. Objectively a lot nicer than his old one. But, he hadn't grown up there. Ben had never lived there. There had been no secret sneaking out or secret identities there, and walking up the walls in the new place would never quite feel the same as in his old room, where every time he'd relive that little thrill from the very first time he'd ever walked across his ceiling and was sure he was dreaming.

"Peter!" Mr. Delmar's greeting startled him out of his musing. He stepped out from behind the counter with open arms, several different kinds of mustard already staining his apron even though the new bodega had only been open for a few hours. "Glad to see you again. How are you?"

"Good, good." He rubbed the back of his neck. "How about you?"

"Oh, I'm doing great." That took Peter off guard a bit. He'd asked as a formality. Everyone had been asking everyone how they'd been doing the past few months. People either were honest, or they lied in an 'I'm good,' that really just meant 'I don't want to get into it.' Nobody, least of all nobody who was dusted, said great in quite the same hearty and jovial tone as Mr. Delmar. Nobody was great yet. He flashed Peter a rare smile. "My daughter is too old for you, now."

Peter rolled his eyes. "How lucky. I'll take the usual," he said, sliding a five over the counter, and spun around to look at the new place. It wasn't the old bodega, but it still had the same vibe, the same general aesthetic. Same music, same signs above the aisles.

"Here ya go." Mr. Delmar pushed the sub across the counter towards Peter, who promptly unwrapped it and took as big a bite as he could muster. Oh Yeah. That was the stuff. He didn't realize how much he'd been craving one of these. Heaven on bread.

"So what are you up to today, Pete?"

"Nothing much. Just running by the old apartment to pick up some old things that the new owners found."

"Mph." Mr. Delmar's face crinkled and he sneered down at the sandwich he was making. "That's not right, what they're doing. That was your apartment. And that was my bodega." He gestured down the street towards the new Dollar General and shook his head. "This is ridiculous."

"Yeah." Peter shrugged. The legality of the whole situation was beyond him, and he honestly wasn't very keen on getting into it. He was a scientist. A superhero. Not a lawyer. Everyone who lost property in the years since the snap was told they'd be compensated, but nobody knew when that would be, or even where that money was supposed to come from. It was starting to look like it was just never going to happen.

"Sorry, kid," Mr. Delmar sighed, genuine now. "Hope you get some good stuff back today."

"Thanks. Yeah. Me, too. I'll uh- I'll let you know."

"Yeah, yeah." He waved goodbye and stepped out onto the chilly sidewalk, Italian club in hand, and he swore, one of Mr. Delmar's subs made everything just a little bit better. After all, wasn't post-apocalyptic New York with a sub at least marginally better than a post-apocalyptic city without one? The logic was sound enough.

He checked his watch. There were still a few minutes before Tony was set to meet him, and he slipped into a Goodwill a block down, shaking the December snow out of his hair in the entryway, boots squeaking against the soaked tile floor. He and May used to shop here for clothes all the time. But, since coming back from the snap, he was a near-constant visitor, always checking to see if any of the new donations used to be his. He may have even sent the drone in his suit to scout things out once or twice when he couldn't make it over. He'd actually had okay luck, too. He'd found an old picture frame of May's, some old fridge magnets that used to be theirs, and an old ceramic pen holder he'd made for Ben as a fathers day present years ago when May had taken him pottery painting as a kid. They were only little things, but, at the same time, they weren't little at all. May had cried every time he brought something home.

He scanned through the clothes, the furniture, the little nick-nacks, but didn't see anything familiar this time around. At least, not until he saw Tony walking up to him out of the corner of his eye, his telltale gait with the shoulders squared back and one arm that didn't quite swing like the other alerting him to who it was before he could even turn his head. Dang. He must have lost track of time.

He was dressed more casually than Peter had ever seen in the past, baseball cap and sunglasses on, and the mechanical arm hidden underneath a winter coat and gloves. Still, he looked distinctly like Tony Stark, and Peter was astounded that nobody else saw it.

Tony wrinkled his nose and looked around. "Ew. I can smell the bedbugs from here."

Peter shook his head. "It's not that bad."

"If you knew what some of these people did in or on these clothes before donating them-"

"Sounds like projection to me," Peter smirked. "Besides. They do a lot for the neighborhood. I like it."

Tony merely shrugged.

"Give me, like, one more minute. Sorry. I still need to check electronics."

"Well, I'll give you that," he said, following Peter to electronics. "Goodwill is a step up from dumpster diving."

Peter chuckled under his breath. "Actually, that's exactly what I'm looking for."

"What? Don't tell me you're dumpster diving at Goodwill. That's the trash's trash. That's like eating shit, digesting it, and then shitting out even shittier shit."

"Shhh," Peter hissed. "They can hear you, you know. Besides. I'm just trying to see if any of our old stuff wound up here. I really liked those old computers I found in that dumpster. What did you call it? A retro-tech vibe or something?"

"Oh. Yeah, something like that. I… I really doubt you're going to find those old computers here. The chances of that have to be one in a-"

"Aha!" Peter gestured smugly to a set of retro tech identical to the setup that he'd had in his room that first time Tony had come to whisk him away to Germany. They had to be the same ones. Peter inspected them closely. Same scratch mark on the side. Same splatter from a gold sharpie that he'd gripped too hard before he learned his own strength. These were it.

"Well, I'll be damned."

"These had better still work." Peter took the cord to the CPU and plugged it into an outlet on the wall, waiting for the telltale green light to start blinking. It didn't. Peter frowned at it. "What did they do to them?" An uncharacteristic rage sparked up in his eyes, and Tony stepped back to study him. He hadn't seen Peter mad since the ferry, and seeing it inside of a Brooklyn Goodwill just seemed... odd to him.

"They made it all those years. They made it through being thrown in a dumpster in a storm, and then some asshole had to come along and-"

"Hey." Tony put a hand Peter's shoulder, doing his best to calm him down without making a scene, or at least get his voice down. "Let's get them anyway. We can fix them up. It'll be fun. They'll be better than before, and you'll have way more tools to work with this time around."

Peter glowered, didn't even bat an eye at the idea of fixing up some tech with Tony freaking Stark. Tony put his hands in his pockets, not quite sure what to do. Never quite sure what to do when it came to Peter. That had sort of been his best shot right there.

"Fine." Peter deflated. "Fine. You're right. I can just fix them up or something." He ignored Tony's offer completely and carryied the items begrudgingly up to the front.

"Here." Tony began pulling out his wallet to pay for Peter, but Peter stopped him.

"It's fine, Tony. It's, like, sixty bucks, tops. I've got it."

"Nonsense."

"Tony." Peter fixed him with a deadpan stare. "I can do some things on my own. Okay?"

Tony pursed his lips tightly, but stepped back and slid his wallet back into his pocket. "Okay." Something about Peter's tone kept him from insisting again, and he slid the wallet back into his pocket, waiting at the entrance for Peter before slipping back out into the December cold with the old electronics in tow.

They began walking in silence. Tony wasn't quite sure what to say to Peter. As he'd been getting to know him better and better, he began seeing more and more sides of him: his typical people-pleasing fanboy, Peter when he was frustrated over something that wouldn't work right in the lab, him sad, him stubborn, the works. And every time Peter showed a new side to him, as happy about it as Tony was, it threw him for a loop in a manner that he was anything but used to. He was so rarely thrown for a loop.

"Thanks. For helping me pick up those boxes from the old apartment," Peter said when the silence between them grew thick and awkward. "You- You really didn't have to go out of your way, though. It's not like their heavy... for me, anyway. I just don't have enough arm for them both. I could have just made two trips on my own. Or just waited until Ned got out of class and had him and MJ help me.

"Ned? Your, oh, what did he call himself? Your guy in the chair or something?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that's him."

"What do you mean 'out of class?' School doesn't start back up for another month."

It was true. The public school system had been flooded when all of the snapped kids came back at once over the summer. Not only that, but all those who were snapped had only half of their most recent year of schooling, while their spared counterparts were right on schedule. And with so many homeless and moving around, trying to find new places to live, nobody knew which school to put which kids in. It had been a complete mess. And so, New York public schools, along with most of the schools in the world, had deferred for a semester to let things settle out and regroup.

"Public School," Peter corrected. "Ned's in college now."

"Oh. Uh... That's… different," Tony said.

"Yep." Peter popped the 'p' and stared straight ahead, gaze steely and unreadable. "He has a study group for finals coming up or something today."

"Ah." Tony cleared his throat, not making eye contact, and Peter couldn't blame him. What do you even say to something like that? "Whose MJ?"

Peter flushed down to his neck before he even opened his mouth, and Tony practically lunged at the opportunity to tease him. "Ohhh, someone has a crush,"

"It-No. I-It's not like that," Peter sputtered, and Tony gave him a sideways like that just said 'sure it's not.' But, it wasn't. It really wasn't. Okay, maybe Peter wanted it to be like that a little. Okay, maybe more than a little, but it wasn't. So, why was he this embarrassed?

"Remind me to give you a lesson sometime before you go back to school. You're going to be amazing with the ladies. This MJ character will love it."

"Nononono!" Peter would love a lot of lessons from Tony: fighting. Flying. Tech. Coding. But, a lesson in getting a date was not of them. Not from Tony. Not in a million years.

"Or guys." Tony put his hands up. "Guess MJ is kinda a gender-neutral name isn't it?"

"What?" Peter shook his head. "It's really not like that. We- she- we're not going to the same school next month."

"Oh." Tony's face fell. "She uh… she's in college, too now?"

"No." Peter shifted uncomfortably. "She got snapped, too. We're just not in the same school zone anymore."

"She moved?"

"I moved." Peter corrected. "New zone. New school."

"Shit!" Tony stopped dead in his tracks. "Geez, I didn't even consider the school zoning when I-"

Peter stopped, too, and turned to look back at Tony with a quizzical glare. "When you what?" Both Peter and May thought that it was awfully suspicious that rent on their apartment was so low for so nice an apartment in that part of Queens, and especially when all of even the worst apartments were practically being price gouged (supply and demand and all). Surely, Tony didn't have anything to do with that. "When you what?" Peter repeated.

"Nothing. I did nothing. Say, what's in these boxes that you need to get at your old place, anyway?" He popped a pretzel in his mouth from seemingly nowhere.

Peter fixed Tony with a stare that would be able to cut through him if it weren't for the fact that it was coming from Peter, but went along with the change of subject anyway.

"No idea. All I know is that the new owners suddenly found an old box of our things, and since, we're, y'know, alive now, they decided to call May and let her know instead of selling more of our stuff… how'd you even find out that I needed help moving boxes, anyway? That's kind of a long drive just for two boxes."

"Don't worry about it. You're getting me out of a board meeting. That's a good thing," he added at Peter's horrified expression. "Your aunt and I talk, believe it or not. She wanted someone with you. Someone adult."

"You mean my aunt and Happy talk, and you talk to Happy."

"You got me." Tony held his hands up in mock defense, then, after hesitating for a moment, added "is it just me, or is the whole Happy and your aunt thing… sorta… "

"It's weird." Peter nodded. "Not just you. It's definitely very weird."

Before they knew it, they had reached the front door of Peter's old apartment building. Nothing was quite as weird that. Five years. Even that piece of gum shaped like a cat just outside of the main entrance had managed to stay put after all that time, while Peter, a whole person, hadn't. Peter hadn't been back since, well, since that night. He swallowed hard. It was like something out of a dream. Whether it was a good dream or a bad one, he couldn't decide.

Walking up those stairs to build that lego death star with Ned, back when they were both fifteen… it felt like yesterday. It felt like a thousand years ago. How had things changed this much? In just the blink of an eye for him, Ned had moved on to college, their nights spent up late musing about what it would be like to be college roommates damned. He'd been left behind.

"Kid? You okay?" Tony asked.

"Yeah, why?" Peter lied.

Tony shrugged. "You just looked… distant, I guess."

Peter took a shaky breath before knocking on the door. He felt hot, all the sudden. Felt sweat pricking up on his forehead even though the hallways never were heated very well in the winter. He had to work harder to keep his breathing under control. Oh, please not now, he thought. But, he couldn't help it. The last time he'd been here was on that night. That night that he'd lost his home, and almost lost his hero. Again.

"Peter?"

Before Peter could reply, the door swung open, and they were there. The couple that took his apartment. May had tried bargaining, tried paying them much more than the apartment was actually worth, but they hadn't budged. Real estate had been hell lately, hadn't you heard?

"Come in, come in," the woman ushered, and both Tony and Peter stepped inside. It was so similar to the last time he'd been inside, the morning of that field trip. And so so different. A different couch. A different kitchen table. A Zumba fitness room where his bedroom had been. But, it was still the same apartment. Had the same smell. The same hominess. The same cold draft over the living room that had annoyed Peter to no end but that he found himself missing. The same scorch mark on the wall behind the stove from May's cooking, or, well, attempt at cooking.

"We, uh, we were going through the closet to get the tree out," she gestured to the corner where there was a poorly constructed fake Christmas tree- the same spot May had always put theirs up, as well, "and we found these."

She crouched down and pulled two plastic bins out of the closet. "I have no idea how we missed them all these years, but their yours now. If you still want them, that is."

Peter's forehead creased, and he put his Goodwill bag full of broken old computer parts down on the kitchen table, sitting down on his knees in front of the first bin. He knew what it was before he even opened it. "Christmas ornaments."

He reached in, hand shaking slightly, and pulled one out. Woodchuck, from Peanuts, tangled in Christmas lights. He remembered that one. He was really little, probably five or six, and had become transfixed on it in a gift shop in Manhattan after watching the Christmas special the night before. May and Ben had bought it when he wasn't looking and surprised him with it Christmas morning. Under their tree in that very same corner.

There were the yearly ones that his parents had gotten him for the first several years of life, and that May took over after their death. They all sat neatly in rows with the year number glaring up at him: 2016, 2017, 2018, nothing.

He reached in for another. Why was his hand shaking this much? They were just ornaments. It was a baby blue little picture frame, with "BABY'S FIRST CHRISTMAS!" scrawled in comic sans across the top. In the frame, his mom and dad were on either side of him, just an infant, leaning in and kissing his almost-bald head while he made a comically terrible face at the camera. He still remembered them. Not as clearly as he used to, but he still did.

"That's you?" Tony asked, looking over his shoulder.

"No shit," Peter jested. "And to think you call yourself a genius." The humor evaporated between them without so much as a chuckle. His voice cracked and was shaky, portraying none of the confidence he'd had in his head.

Tony cleared his throat. "Why don't we get going. Y'know. Don't want to keep your aunt waiting or anything."

He didn't trust his voice not to break again, so he simply nodded, packed his computer parts on top of the first of the two bins, and picked it up. Tony followed suit with the second, and the woman walked them to the door, gave some sort of pleasant social required farewell that was completely lost on Peter because how dare she bid him good day out of his apartment, and closed the door on him. Peter stared at it for longer than he should have. It was so quick. He used to have a key to that door. He should be able to open that door. He'd probably never see it open again, and never see the inside of their apartment where he'd first walked across his bedroom ceiling again.

"Pete?" Tony nodded in the direction of the elevator, casting him a glace every few seconds as they waited for the elevator to arrive.

Peter stared straight ahead, gripping the bin tightly to stop the stupid shaking of his hands. Kept clenching and unclenching his jaw. Kept breathing. In one two three. Out one two three. In one two three. Out one two three. No panic attacks. Not here. Not now. Especially not in front of Tony.

"Um-" Tony looked down at Peter's hands. He was gripping the bin so hard that the red plastic was beginning to turn white and warp, ready to give way and break all of the delicate ornaments inside.

"Oh. Right." Peter loosened his grip, clenching his jaw all the while. Keep it together, keep it together, keep it together.

Finally, the elevator dinged and the doors open, and the two stepped wordlessly inside. Peter leaned back against the wall, bin in hand, and closed his eyes. Why was he so tired all the sudden?

"You're not gonna get any closure," Tony said out of the blue.

Peter's eyes snapped open. "What?"

"Oh, man." Tony squeezed his eyes shut and Peter was pretty sure that if he weren't holding a bin full of glass ornaments, he would be rubbing his temples in the way that he tended to be doing a lot lately. "I'm really bad at this, aren't I?"

"Um." Peter didn't know what to say. "I guess?"

Tony sighed. "I mean… I mean don't hold out for closure. You always hope that someday the people who hurt you-" he juts his chin up in the direction of Peter's old apartment, the people who had taken up residence there, "that they're going to wake up one day and realize everything that they did. And feel bad about it. But… it doesn't ever happen. And if you're waiting for that forever, then… then it's never going to get better. You're just going to be stuck waiting forever."

Peter stared at him, eyes wide, for an uncomfortable length of time. "Yeah. T-that makes sense."

Tony shrugged. "Easier said than done."

Another uncomfortable silence.

"That also makes sense."

The ride home was uneventful, enjoyable even. They took the subway back to Peter's current apartment, and it was painfully obvious from the way Tony stumbled any time they hit a bump that Tony was not used to public transportation.

"Shut up!" he hissed every time that Peter began to snicker, which of course only made the situation that much more amusing. Tony stumbled so hard that, even through the coat, his artificial arm made a conspicuously loud clang. They both froze and locked eyes, and Tony wordlessly made his way to an empty seat and took it instead, checking around to see if anybody had caught on. Too close.

May, of course, cried as soon as she saw the bins full of ornaments.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she said, fanning her face with her hand in a vain attempt to dry the wet trails down her cheeks. "Thank you so much, Tony. I- I was at work all day, and I didn't want him going back there alone, and-"

"Hey, like I told the kid. You got me out of a board meeting. It's me who should be thanking you."

"Are you staying for dinner?" she asked. "I could invite Happy, and-"

"No, no. Sorry. I uh- I've got some business to attend to." He met Peter's eyes from his place in the doorway. "Keep me updated on those computers, alright? I expect to see them in pristine condition next time I see them. "

"Will do, Mr. Stark."

And with that, Tony was off, making the drive, or maybe the flight- Peter wasn't quite sure, back upstate.

"I thought you didn't like him," Peter asked with a raised eyebrow when May pouted her lower lip at Tony's refusal to stay.

"I mean, he did save literally half the universe. And my Peter." May gave him an affectionate hug, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"And you," Peter added. "And, I'm sure it has nothing to do with Happy, right?"

May playfully swatted at his head, which Peter ducked expertly. "Nothing at all."

As they found a new corner of the room to set the tree up in for the first time, Peter thought that maybe, just maybe, this could be a place that he'd miss and build a new treasure chest full of memories in someday, too. Especially when, the next morning, there was an envelope under his tree with the telltale T.S. scrawled on it. He looked around the apartment. May was still asleep.

He padded quietly to the tree to open it and could barely believe his eyes. It was a class schedule. A class schedule from Midtown High. No way. No way. He could have fainted. Or thrown up. Or done a few cartwheels. Any of those would do. He was going to school with MJ. He was going to school with his friends again. Just- well almost like old times.

He fumbled with his phone to text Tony and nearly dropped it in his excitement.

Thanks, Santa, He texted.

The reply came right away: NEVER call me that again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took a few liberties with Ned's character, there. Hope y'all don't mind!
> 
> Three of twenty-five. Status of IDB Card: Gala/Press Event|Happy Tears|INSOMNIA|PETER MEETS THE AVENGERS|Alcohol|IDENTITY REVEAL|Car Crash|CAREER DAY| HYPOTHERMIA| PTSD |NO ANESTHESIA| JEALOUSY |SLEEPY |COLLEGE|NIGHTMARES| ROAD TRIP| DRUGS |LOSING POWERS|BULLYING|Homesick|"I Thought I Lost You"|Panic Attacks|Bruises|Working In The Lab| Sick Fic
> 
> As always, if you have any suggestions for any of these prompts in caps please let me know! I need ideas, and I LOVE the ones that were suggested so far. I'll definitely be using some of them. Which one do you want to see next? As always, comments mean the world, so if you have the time and liked the story, I'd love to hear what you think! <3

**Author's Note:**

> And that's one of twenty-five, folks! If you enjoyed, please let me know! Hearing from y'all really makes my day. Also looking for a beta reader, so if you or someone you know is interested, please let me know ASAP!
> 
> Status of IDB Card: Gala/Press Event | Happy Tears | INSOMNIA | PETER MEETS THE AVENGERS | Alcohol | IDENTITY REVEAL |  
> Car Crash | CAREER DAY| HYPOTHERMIA | PTSD | NO ANESTHESIA | JEALOUSY | SLEEPY | COLLEGE | NIGHTMARES | ROAD TRIP | DRUGS | LOSING POWERS | BULLYING | Homesick | "I Thought I Lost You"| Panic Attacks | Bruises | Working In The Lab | Sick Fic
> 
> If you have any suggestions for any of these prompts in caps (these haven't been planned yet) please let me know! I need ideas.


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